Ian Madrox piss outdoor

Ian Madrox stands in bright sunlight, his dark hair pulled back under a cap, and sprays his load straight into the rough bark of a palm tree, no hands, no aim, just the hot jet hitting the trunk like a deliberate mark. The trunk absorbs it fast, the droplets glistening where they land, while the wind carries the scent of wet wood and salt. He doesn’t look down, doesn’t slow, just keeps it going until the last drop falls, leaving a faint, damp trail where his cock was. The sun turns his skin golden, the shadows stretch long, and the only sound is the steady plink of urine hitting bark.